“And it's mine?”
“Marcus,” she sighs, but I have to ask. We broke up over a month ago. “Of course.”
The ramifications of her news hits me in spurts and thoughts that aren’t completely formed and I'm unable to focus on any one thing other than the fact that I'm going to be responsible for another human being and that Gretchen will forever be a part of my life.
“Are you there?” she asks.
“Yeah. I'm here.” I pause trying to figure out what to say. “The key to my dad's house is on top of the light by the back door. Let yourself in and I'll be back tonight. Late, but tonight and then we'll talk.”
“Okay.” Her voice sounds stronger than it was moments ago.
“I'll see you tonight. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I won’t. Thanks, Marcus.”
I click the phone off and let my chin drop down to my chest.
How will I support a kid when I can barely support myself? I didn't want a future with Gretchen. What if the baby isn't mine? I'll need a paternity test for sure. Random thoughts assault my mind and I can’t make them stop.
“Marcus!” Bill is waving to me from the deck above.
I nod to him and head toward the staircase I watched Caterina climb a few minutes earlier when my only problem was figuring out how to turn down a teenager that wanted to fuck me.
Now, I'll be the father of a teenager in thirteen years.
I reach the top of the stairs, not remembering how I even got there.
“Marcus, I have some people that want to meet you.” Bill clasps my shoulder, leading me through the French doors and into the room where people are milling about and dinner will be served shortly.
For the next hour, Bill introduces me to everyone from self-made millionaires who developed apps to third generation old money. Each one praising the job I did on the boat, asking me how long my wait list is—some suggesting they'll pay me extra to move themselves up. Somehow, I manage to put the call from Gretchen far enough from my mind that I’m able to have coherent conversations and I think make a decent impression.
Right before dinner is to be served, one of Bill's friends waves me over to him. If I remember correctly, he owns some chain of restaurants. Now if I could just remember his name…Ted, Tim, Jim?
Shit. Whatever. Just act like I remember.
I hold my hand out for him to shake once we're close enough, which he does, with a firm grip. I would expect no less.
“Marcus, I'd like to strike a deal with you before that boat gets auctioned off.” He nods his head toward the hallway behind us and not waiting for me to answer, he turns and starts walking. I follow and he holds a set of double doors open for me. Once we’re through the doors, he walks beside me instead of in front.
“I've been looking at sailboats for two years and every time, I find one I want, a fucking buddy of mine pulls into the port with it. I want a boat no one else can get. One that was custom made for me.”
I follow him through the back hallway of the venue and into a small office.
“I'm not sure I’m the right person for that job,” I say, as he shuts the door behind me.
This whole scenario is starting to feel like a shot from a Godfather movie and if I decline to build him a boat, I’m going to find myself with cement shoes at the bottom of the ocean rather than deck shoes on a yacht.
“Every man has a price, name yours.” He leans back on the desk that I know isn't his like the presumptuous rich prick he probably is. Someone should tell this man that intimidation is not how you get your way.
“Listen, I'm going to be honest.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “I'm new to this. I did the boat out there as a favor. My father had already committed to it before he passed away. I didn't want to leave the charity hanging, so I did it.”
“And you're going to be paid generously for your donation.” His salt and pepper eyebrows rise in question.
“I'm not sure I can deliver what you want. I'm not experienced enough.”
His hand digs into his suit jacket and he pulls out a check book. Grabbing a pen from the desk adorned with pictures of small children, he turns his back to me and leans over the desk to write in it.
The tear of the check from the book echoes in the room like a zipper in a room with a hooker and her score. He's trying to buy me and the question remains, am I for sale?
It all happens in slow motion, him stepping forward, his arm extended with the small piece of paper in hand. Me reaching forward and grasping on to what might be my salvation.
Gretchen's words echo in my head the entire time. I'm pregnant. Diapers, a car, and a college education flash through my head like neon lights outside a bar. We're about to become an insta-family and I have nothing to my name except a shop full of tools from my dad.
The man steps back, again placing the weight of his body on the edge of the desk, a smirk in place suggesting he's positive I won't pass up the money.
I stare down at the check and understand the smirk.
Fuck. Never have I dreamed of making this much money. And even without knowing what materials will cost, my answer is immediate. I don't have many options at this point and it’s no longer just about me.
I meet his eyes. “I’ll give you a call next week and we can get started.”
His smirk grows and though I loathe the I-always-get-what-I-want-look, I can’t help but be somewhat grateful.
“That's what I thought.” He pushes himself off the edge of the desk and holds his hand out in front of me. “Have a good night, Marcus.”
I shake his hand and look down at the check, unable to tear my gaze away from it. “Thank you.”
He reaches into his pocket once more and pulls out a business card. I take it, folding the check over the business card and placing them both in my tuxedo pants.
My newest client—Jim—leaves the room and I take a moment to myself to absorb the fact that my life is changing as fast as a racecar circling the Indy 500.
Elation mixes with worry as I stand there contemplating my future and what it might look like. I hear the door open behind me and turn to apologize to whoever’s office it is and explain my presence there, but I only find Caterina, slinking in and locking the door.
If I thought the tear of the check echoed throughout the room, the door lock sounds like a jail cell clicking shut and trapping me inside.
I need to get out of here before this whole new profitable future of me taking over Kent Restoration is a minute blur in my life.
“Caterina,” I sigh, exhausted at her attempts.
Time to put her in her place once and for all.
Eight
I'm not blind. I see her twirling her hair, her vulture eyes scouring my body. I also see her soft curves and the way her cleavage peeks out from the top of her dress. I can’t help but think that her long blonde hair would feel like silk through my fingers. Any man with a pulse that doesn't notice Caterina Santora can only be batting for the other team.
But—and that's a very big but—she's the daughter of the man who unknowingly is helping me get my life on track and I’m not going to return the favor by banging his youngest daughter. She's eighteen with her whole life ahead of her, and I just found out an hour ago, that I'm about to be a father myself.